


Dick Grayson: Tamed

by NinjaWolfBaby



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Body Horror, Collars, Creepy Slade Wilson, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, I'm Going to Hell, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Rape/Non-con Elements, SladeRobin Week, The Author Regrets Everything, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 11:43:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21178859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinjaWolfBaby/pseuds/NinjaWolfBaby
Summary: After life on Earth is nearly destroyed, a select few people are gifted with the abiblity to bear children.Dick Grayson is one such person.He comes into Slade Wilson's 'care'.This is his story.





	Dick Grayson: Tamed

**Author's Note:**

> This is nothing like what I normally post. Sorry

It should be routine by now. 

Lift one arm, then the other, one foot, then the next. The nudity doesn't much matter to him, he's always had a body he's been proud of, one he worked hard to earn. The scars that mark it are _his_, like almost nothing was anymore. Not even his name, faded into the same blackness that surrounds him. No… what bothers him, really bothers him, are the hands. Cold, uncaring. 

He can't see, blindfolded and kept in near complete blackness in any case, the omega had been labeled as nearly useless when brought to the facility. How long ago had that been? Weeks, surely, months? 

His heats had never been regular, ever since he was made. He had--

The hard clang of metal against metal jolts him free. A warning, he gets two before the metal strikes him and not the walls of… wherever he was. That was… not fun. Not fun in the least. Bruises. On his back, the curve of his ass, the soles of his feet. Never enough to break skin, but enough to… eventually, break anyone's mind.

"Shipping out stock 56097?" Voices. The words don't matter, not even as they're giving a name, a deganiation, to the creature. There's some form of brightness, a searing light past the hard press of material against his face, and fingers press against his lips, push down, to examine his mouth. Once, he would bite, would tear and bleed and fight. What a foolish thing. The hands always won in the end, and if the omega stood still, quiet, sometimes there would be someone who slipped up, patted at his hip or shoulder. A kind of reward he hoards like how humans once hoarded gold and oil. Foolish.

"Going straight to Slade." Comes the confirmation, and the omega turns his head to follow as his cheek is pushed from one side to the other. "I for one don't pity either of them. Heard the first thing Slade's going to do is flush the drugs out." 

The first voice, now lower, grooming the omega with strong smelling lotion that will cleanse his body of all hair, apart from what is on top of his head, grunts in surprise.

"Is he retarded? This thing took out nearly half our guards bringing it in, and months of effort to break it. Why would Slade undo all of that?" A slap to his flank has the omega turning, placid and yielding as they continue their ministrations. It's a treat, and he knows it. Something is happening, something important. There is never this much care put into his appearance, even on adoption day, there's a cold hose, a spray of freezing water. Everything else was left up to the buyers.

"And, he wants it dressed. In the outfit it came in." 

"Why would he want that? Slade’s gotta be crazier than a bag of cats--"

"Shut up! You saw what happened to the last guys who talked shit about Slade. He'll find out, and you'll be pushed out the airlock, if you're lucky." 

"Yeah, yeah. I just don't want to be responsible when this thing comes back, fighting and snarling again." There's a friendly slap to his hip, and the omega follows the wordless order. 

They travel, tile cold under his feet and it seems further than he's ever gone, feet aching with cold and unfamiliar strain when a harsh word makes him stop. 

"Better give him a little extra. Putting clothes on an omega is just a waste, and who knows how it's going to react." 

More fingers, pushing something small and hard in front of them. He swallows, obedient, and knows no more.

  
  


He comes to… a long time later. He doesn't know when, or where he is, but he's… aware. Aware that his limbs are inveloped in tight, protective material, both familiar and incredibly strange. There's nothing blocking his gaze now, and he feels… oddly weightless, when his eyes slowly open. 

"Don't get any ideas." A voice he should know, a voice that he's heard before. The omega blinks rapidly, trying to make sense of what he sees, the first thing in ages he's actually been allowed to see. 

He's kneeling, not new, but the burnt orange silk pillow is an upgrade. Clothed in blue and black, stripes of brightness in a shadowed room. Far above, there's the grinding of obnoxiously oversized gears. 

"Now listen here, Robin. I've been looking for you for a very, long time." Hands bury themselves into his hair, and the omega jumps, frowning. 

"... not my name…?" It shouldn't be a question, he shouldn't be talking at all. But the rules beaten into his skin and bones feel so far away now. The haze of drugs and pain is already fading, and he shifts his weight, noting the ground is solid. That's good. That gives him an advantage when he. 

When he what?

"No. I suppose it's not, is it?" Mocking, now. But the hand in his hair is nice and it's not yanking at his scalp, gently scraping nails over the sensitive skin. "You may remember another, later. But for now that's what you will answer to. Understand?"

"I…" There it is. The omega only notices the pressure around his throat when his head is jerked back, the pressure painful as it digs into his Adam's apple and his hisses. "Understood!" 

Instantly, the pressure is gone, releasing the o-- Robin's hair, to allow him to pant against the cold concrete under his cheek.

"I told you not to try anything. That includes disobeying me. Understood?"

This time it's easy to answer. He easily barks out a "understood, sir!" and his reward are fingers tracing over the odd fabric he wore, petting down his spine. 

  
  


So this was what happened to the little bird. Slade knew that after the invasion, humanity paying a steep price to barely eke out an 'victory', the former heroes were rounded up. 

The alien race that had nearly eradicates humanity had left bare scraps of their knowledge, as well as a deadly chemical that rendered females infertile, in order to better subdue the remaining humans. Fortunately, for humanity's sake, they had also left an extremely dubious mix of drugs and procedures that left a select portion of the population able to bear young. Male or female. 

They are called omegas. 

Richard Grayson was one such person. Slade had been searching for the man since he had secured his place as one of the new world leaders. Using his power, money, had always been easy. But Dick had still been hard to locate, transferred and causing enough trouble Slade's own records were barely able to contain all the papers. 

But, eventually, he had. And what a rush that was. Those perfect blue eyes, dazed and blindly trusting. How easily Dick had allowed Slade entry, body and lips parting at the slightest hint Slade wanted them to. Even his costume, ripped and dirty as it was, was amazingly still intact. Two years had passed, and it wasn't entirely negative. Richard had grown into his body, finally, slender and tempting in his old wrapper. His posture was beautiful, and the added… amenities were too lovely to ignore.

That will cause issues later, he knows it will, but Slade doesn't particularly care. All his children had perished fighting the invasion, and the remaining population were highly encouraged to start repopulating the earth right away. 

As it is now, the boy is still completely out of it. The brief flash of personality wasn't the first, and it shouldn't be the last, not with the drugs keeping him mindless wearing off. And if the boy had the mind to vigorously protest Slade's new role in his life, he would find out exactly what that pretty black and orange collar did. 

  
  


His name was Robin. He was Slade's omega. Slade… frankly terrified Robin and everyone else he came into contact with. He wore a mask at all times, and full armor whenever he woke. Robin was not allowed to sleep on the bed with Slade, and cuffed firmly on the floor at the bottom of it. 

Information was worth far more than gold, here. Robin could actually understand that reference now, two weeks into his new home. Things were coming back, slowly. Faces, names, remembered pride and pain and panic. He never remembered his name, and he had more than one at one point. He knew that. He just… couldn't remember right now. Just like he knew he could slip the cuffs, could pull and twist his hands until the were bloody but free. Just like he knew he could punch and kick Slade, could_ kill_ the man that had him leashed like an animal. The thought should scare him, that's not how good little omegas worked and bad omegas got _hurt_ or _worse._ But there's a hunger in his belly, one no amount of rich, delicate food could sate. And every time Slade bedded him, everytime Robin's new and strange body welcomed something so forgien and so strange into his body, the hunger grew. It was white hot now, licking along along his ribs and down in the furl of the new hole he doesn't remember getting, remembers nothing but smooth skin, interrupted by his balls that no longer exist. At least he still has his cock… his cock that hurts almost as bad as the rest of him.

Slade had found him, straining towards a small piece of metal, bent and broken and tempting him with the glint that promised _freedom_, so long as he could reach it. His ankles, trapped in heavy leather cuffs attached to the wall, had been keeping him just out of range, fingers stretching and failing. Slade had spanked him, turned Robin over his knee and held him down for hard and heavy slaps, adjusting him every time his cock slipped down, out of the line of fire. 

_My name is Dick Grayson. _

The omega freezes. The thought, if it was a thought and not a thread of knowledge as strong as steel, had surprised him. The omega, Robin, Dick?, had only been trying to cast his mind away from the ache in his lower half, the shame that wouldn't have bothered him before, when he was strung out and fucked up on drugs. But now… now he wasn't, and the thought was… Good? Was that the right word? Warm, was better. Comforting. Right. It feels familiar, like something he once thought, or said, often. 

"My name is Dick Grayson…" 

"Excuse me?" Robin jumps, flinching at the sudden explosion of light, Slade crouching just outside of the range Robin could use to lunge, to rip and hurt and make the man bleed. He bares his teeth, at once horrified at the action and entirely uncaring. 

"My name is Dick Grayson." He repeats. It's not a question, it's a cold statement of fact. The other gives an impression of laughing, eye lighting up. No sound, but Ro-- Dick? Is used to that. Slade was a quiet bastard. 

"Is it now?" Slade's hand reaches, and it's part ingrained punishment and part the grip on his hair that bows his head, neck straining. Robin snarls, trying to pull away, but he's well and truly trapped, bending his spine near in half to ease the pain in his neck. The other man is amused, the hand not pulling Robin's hair stroking over his neck, the leather that bears the same colors as Slade's uniform. "Tell me, Robin, just how you know that."

Dick doesnt want to answer, struggles against it with every fiber in his body. But Slade pulls harder, and moves closer. It's as much a threat as anything else, the armor so close to his mouth, and Robin surrenders. It burns, tasting rage like gasoline and humiliation the match inches away from turning him into an explosion of hate. Only most of it is for Slade, the rest is aimed solely at himself, for bending to the sick bastards whim.

"I don't know! I just fucking know it!" A hand connects with the side of his face. Hard. That's _it._ That is the final straw. 

Fury is a monster inside, roaring with an inhuman voice past his lips, shredding his vocal chords as he rears back. Its instinct and rage that guides his body, that blinds him to the pain of dislocated thumbs, of his skin ripping as he tears them free of the cuffs, lunging at the fucki f orange and black man who doesn't even twitch. 

He doesn't need to.

Inches away, mere seconds from wrapping bloody teeth around the man's throat, no need for aching useless fists, no time for feet that have been softened by time and disuse. The omega can practically _taste_ the man's life blood, red and sweet, when his body attempts to tear itself apart. Pain is the first thing he notices, choking, thick. Or maybe that's just where he bit his tongue, heavy and useless in the omega's mouth. 

He's far away for Slade, curled in the corner of the padded mat Slade had provided, panting harshly into the blue and black of the outfit he woke up in. 

"Wha…?" He can't get the question out, flinching when a much lighter shock snaps around his throat, locking his jaw around a high pitched whine. 

"I think, after that little display, you oughta hold your tongue for a bit. Don't you, Robin?" Powerless, and still aching, Robin dips his head. Unkempt black hair, hair that he knows was once thick and shiney, hangs limply around his face. Mute. Meek. Just how Slade liked him.

Held prisoner by his own body, new and forgien, and by the man who put a goddamn shock collar on him, Richard Grayson makes an oath he has no intention of breaking: Slade may hold his leash… but he will _not _be tamed like some lap pet.

  
  


For five days Dick was held mute. Every time he so much as took a breath too loudly, he got a reproving shock. Five days. 

Before, it may not have mattered. 

He spent untold days in utter silence. Utter blackness. But that was when he couldn't hold a thought in his head, when he thought a half hearted pat on his head was a _gift._ When he was mindless, a warm body to be sold to the highest bidder. 

Not that having his mind changes that. He's still just a warm body. A wet hole. A body to be bred and used as a brood mate. He hasn't caught yet, the disappointed looks the maids give him attest to that, but Dick knows it's only a matter of time. 

"You aren't drifting on me, are you?" Hated breath fans against his neck. Slade is behind him, above him, fingers twisting in the hole that shouldn't be there. He doesn't need to, Slade's tested the limits of his body, and Robin can take him without even the courtesy of the slight stretching he gets from the man's fingers, but it humiliates Dick and that's all he really cares about.

Robin quickly shakes his head, knowing that even if he had been drifting, he had to answer in the negative. Unless he wanted to give the older man even more of a reason to be rough. 

"Good, because I think now that you're finally done detoxing, I want you to be… a more active participant, shall we say?" There's humor, dark and foreboding, in the tone and Slade's hand carelessly ghost over Dick's form, pinching along the skin showing through the rips in his uniform. "Beg me to fuck you."

"Wha--!" It's a light shock, compared to what he's been receiving since he remembered his name, but it makes him fall silent anyway. Silent and still, even when fingers covered in his own fluids smear themselves against his sealed lips. 

"That didn't sound like begging, little bird." He tuts, tapping against Robin's lips. He knows its easier to let them in, to submit and allow Slade yet another little victory. It would be humiliating, licking that wrong wetness clean, the taste forgien and subtly different than a woman, but it would mean Slade wouldn't get another reason to punish him. He wouldn't be hurt. He wouldn't gain yet another bruise. What was pride worth, after all? Unfortunately, even with his memories only half returned, Dick doesn't think he's ever taken the easy route.

Teeth click on empty air, and the agony of the shock collar is almost anticlimactic. Anticlimactic, but still painful. It still steals time from him, still jerks his body around without his consent or his input. When the flow of electricity has ended, he's flat on his back, Slade a heavy weight at his groin, chest heaving as he struggles to breathe. 

"Naughty, naughty. I know you were taught better than that." And those same damn fingers press hard at the hinge of his jaw, forcing his mouth open with sheer brute strength. Leather explores the omegas mouth, as he half jerks in a vain attempt to get free, gloved fingers tracing teeth and tongue equally. "This isn't so hard, is it? This is what you were made for, this is what you're good for. Being a good little bitch, gonna take my cock and give me children." 

Relentlessly, Dick's throat is breached, just the very tips of Slade's glove tickling his uvula and forcing him to gag, over and over. The bastard playing with him, like Dick is some toy, doesn't stop. Not until he's too exhausted to even put a token pressure against the grip on his mouth. And, when Slade finally retreats, lowering his hand and roughly finger fucking Robin's hole… he doesn't bother closing his mouth, slack and while not willing, not actively resisting as Slade drags slick over his tongue. It coats every part of him, a film of slimy alien fluid he can't believe came out of his own body. It's a betrayal, and blue eyes close, another small surrender to at least attempt to escape from the moment.

Not that he's allowed to do so for long.

"Beg me, Robin. Or you will not like what I will do to you." Pure threat lives in his voice, and Robin hates how his stomach clenches, terror stealing the steel from his spine.

"Pl…" A start. That's all he needs. There's no pain, no sharp reprimand. It has to be acceptable, then. "Slade. Please… don't do this, pleas--!" The scream that rips his lips is inhuman, but so is the weight stuffed between his legs. He can barely struggle away, not with Slade still pinning him with one hand, the other twisting whatever is shoved inside his body. 

"I told you you wouldn't like it, Robin. Your choices are to be fucked by my katana hilt, or by my cock." The sentence is punctuated by another little rough thrust, the fabric wrapped hilt too wide, too thick, and dragging with painful intensity along Dick's sensitive walls. 

"No! No! Please, Slade. I--" Instinct takes over, bowing his back and thrashing his head back and forth. He can't process the sensations, can't even begin to separate and overcome. "Slade!" 

The pressure, too much, too strong, ripping him apart, pauses. It doesn't retreat, but nor does it continue its assault. It's a brief reprieve, at best. The omega knows it, whinging high in its throat. 

"Please, please Slade…" It whines again, begging, trying to twist away from the pressure splitting it apart. "Please fuck me, please fuck me." 

The man laughs quietly, breath hot through the slits in his mask, and pulls on the object lodged firmly in the omegas hole. It hurts, it hurts so badly, when Slade slams the tool back in, a steady rhythm that punches out small, broken sounds from the omegas throat. 

"You have to do better than that. Tell me what you want, tell me you want my cock in your cunt." He's evil, there's no other word for it. The omega can barely string together a thought, much less words, as it's fucked with the swords grip, frantically producing slick to at least ease the aching burn. It doesn't help, not very much at least, and it cries out again, shaking its head. "Do it, or I continue with this,_ and_ fuck you when I'm done." 

"Slade!" The single word is a struggle,a miracle the omega even gets it out. "Please… please put your cock in me!" 

The sword hilt slows, then stops completely, deep enough the omega can practically taste it. Slades contemplative, single gray eye staring down at it. 

"Put my cock inside what, Robin?" He asks, focused completely on the omegas face. It hates that name, hates how it pulls him back towards its body, ties him to the memories and the knowledge of just how disgusted he is with the treatment. 

"In… inside my. Inside my cunt." The word, something he couldn't utter even before, in reference to anything, much less something attached to him, is hard to say. It fills his mouth, like fingers, like a cock, but at least he could get this one out. 

"Inside who's cunt? I want to hear you say it, say my name. Beg me to fuck you with my cock." Hatred burns in his chest, in his cheeks, but Robin can't stand another second of being fucked with the hard impersonal metal, closing his eyes hard against the triumph shining in Slade's.

"Slade. Please fuck my cunt with your cock. I need your cock inside me, i… Your omega, Robin needs you to fuck him, and fill his womb with your seed." Robin can't see Slade, can't see the sick gleam in his eye, but he can hear, and he can feel. Against his thigh, which has been bared for long enough he's almost forgotten the length pressed against it, Slade's cock jumps, matching the low growl of pleasure that comes at his words. Thank god. Thank god it's enough, Dick doesnt know how further he could go, how much more he could debase himself. 

"My Robin, my little bird." Slade agrees, sliding the sword from Dick's body with an easy pull. The relief, such as it is because even the air hurts against sensitive skin rubbed raw, is short lived. Slade’s over him, inside him, in the very next breath. The contact burns, and there's no easy place, no warm up. Just Slade, jack hammering inside the puffy, abused hole, clenching Dick's hips hard enough to bruise. "Beg me to cum inside you."

It's an order. Robin doesn't have the strength to deny it anymore. He can't even slip away to the hollow, empty place in his mind, where the drugs made everything unimportant, where he accepted his place as a toy, as an object without even the right to a name; because Slade keeps making him beg, making him use his name, grounding him in the moment. He stutters, stops and starts, mouth held half open in a pained grimace. 

"Cum inside me. Slade. Cum inside me, please. I want this to be over. I want you to cum, I need you--" Another growl. Cold metal against his neck, and Slade impossibly picks up his speed, pulling Dick back onto his cock even as he thrusts up with enough strength Robin feels nothing more than a flesh light. It has to be over soon, it has to be. He can't stand another second he--

Warmth floods inside him, pulsing in time with Slade's trembling muscles, the stuttered breath against his neck. An impossible amount, forcing its way back out his hole, burning and stinging where his skin had been abraded from its rough treatment. But the cock doesn't retreat, doesn't soften. Slade stays in him, on top of him, hands roving every inch of skin revealed by the increasingly dirty uniform Robin knows was once a symbol of everything he loved. 

They're still for a moment, breathing hard for different reasons, before Slade chuckles lowly, slowly withdrawing before pushing back in.

"That was just round one, little bird. Let's see how long it takes for you to get fat off my cum."

  
  


Sometimes, if he's good, Robin earns a reward.

He's not sure if he hates them more than the punishments or not. Both are awful. Both make his shudder and hate himself a little more, hate Slade more, but for different reasons. 

Punishment always hurts. It varies, between spankings and the shocks from the collar, but it never ends before he's gasping and crying, voice too far gone to even ask for mercy. Sometimes Slade fucks him after, sometimes he's left in the dark by himself. 

But the rewards aren't really any better.

They're rare, but when they happen Robin wishes he was anyone else, anywhere else, because he surely can't be enjoying this, can't be hard from this kind of treatment, cant…

"You're such a good little slut." Slades voice is dark, a purring growl at vibrates Robin's near useless cock. It's hard, leaking and an angry purple, but Slade has a hand like iron around the base. He can't cum, he _needs _to cum. 

"Slade! I gotta cum, please, I need--" 

Hot wetness envelops his length again, suction and a clever tongue, and if only that grip shifted for the barest fraction of a moment… Robin doesn't even care he's blindfolded, or that he can still feel Slades mask, the metal cool when it kisses the flesh of his stomach, softer now than it ever was before. He whines, high and bright, begging wordlessly. At his sides, held from force of will and the grip he has on the silent sheets, his arms tremble. But he won't be able to cum if he moves them, will be left hard and wanting. And if he dares to try and take his own pleasure… no. Just, no. 

Punishments are always worse if he's getting a reward when he's bad. 

"Do you want to cum, little bird?" Barely a purr of sound, Slade still manages to instantly gain Robin's attention, thrusting weakly as though that implacable hold would allow that small fraction of movement. 

"Please!" 

"Who's going to make you cum?" 

"You! Slade!" That's all it takes. Robin is cumming, moaning over the lewd sounds that come from his cock, and Slade's lips wrapped tightly around him. 

He's been earning more and more rewards recently, now nearly every week he earns a reward. It's… it's almost nice, if he forgets the acidic hatred that boils under his skin when Slade pets him, pressing hair slick with sweat back from his eyes.

"That's right. I have your pleasure, little bird. Obey me, and receive all the pleasure you want."

  
  


The day starts like any other. Slade wakes him, already deep inside Robin and thrusting with an easy strength. He open so easily now. It rarely stings or hurts. Robin doesn't much care either way. He never gets a reward this early in the day, and if Slade wishes to use his cunt, it really is his prerogative, isn't it? 

But today, Slade fingers the collar he's worn ever since he awoke, even his old uniform had been discarded after the second pup Slade gave him. The leather is worn, the shock setting sitting unused for more time than Robin cares to keep track of. 

"I think we can get rid of this… don't you?" A direct question. Robin tilts his head back, giving the man at his back easier access to the black and orange leather. 

"Yes, Master." There's no anger left. It's been burnt out, pleasured out, punished and stamped and dampened. There's nothing left, and nothing stirs inside the omega, not when Slade pulls the collar free, and not when he's given another treat: Slade gesturing sharply behind him. Robin is being tolerated outside the bedroom, rare and brilliant like the sun shining on soft, pale skin. 

  
  


The first time he kills, it's to protect himself. No one is allowed to touch Robin, not his soft, useless cock, and not his cunt where Slade gives him children. Not his ass, which Slade mostly ignores, and not his mouth, which Slade fucks when Robin has displeased him enough to be denied his Master's seed inside his womb. Not his tits, only slightly puffy since his latest child was done weaning, and not anywhere else. He was Slade's, and has seen what happens when someone dares touch what was Slades, and what happens to the sullied object that was touched.

The man didn't seem to _want_ to touch him, not like that, and kept repeating the same things. Dick. Nightwing. Grayson. He knows them. Knows they're what he once responded to, once wore like colorful fabric and fancy gadgets, but that's a long time ago. Long enough he's seen servants begin fresh faced and retire with more wrinkles than the unmade bed. He blinks, slow and silent. The woman, not omega, can't be omega if she's outside, not well bred and full of children like a good omega was kept, is keeping watch at the door and hisses to hurry.

"You think I'm not!? We didn't think Grayson was even alive anymore! How he is… I don't want to think about it. Come on, Dick. I know you're in there somewhere. I knew your brother, Jason Todd? He was a good man, and I won't let him down by leaving you here like this, come on--" He reaches out, towards Robin's bare neck, and there's metal in his hands, solid and deadly sharp.

The man's blood was thick and warm, a spurting fountain where once a handsome head lay, Slade's katana left in the room as often as it was with Slade. Something is wrong. The girl retreats, swearing and barely remembering to grab the body, and the hours pass. Slade does not return. Slade has always returned, or informed Robin where he would be, and when he would be returning. 

More time passes.

The door is left open, a dark spot of temptation. 

His stomach growls.

He has never been left alone this long, not even when he miscarried a child and was subjected to the worst punishment he has ever endured, and Slade had promised it was a full week. Not that he remembers, fucked endlessly by a machine, forced to cum until the bare thought of pleasure alone made him cry. 

There's no choice. He has to eat.

He slips quietly through the halls, aware of every shadow, every movement. There's sound in the main hall, where Slade tolerates his subjects woes being aired in front of their leader. A group of guards are laughing, drunk and utterly useless. A spark of another life, mostly memory, gives him strength to lift his body up, flying clumsily over their heads.

The problem is simple: A group of rebels. Dirty, stupid peasants that always wanted more than they deserved, stirring up trouble. They have Slade in the middle of the room, stripped down and tied with his hands behind his back.

Robin growls, low in his throat. Slade's face was an honor. A treat only when he really, really deserves it. These filthy, awful creatures don't deserve to see his face. The animals are drunk, and its pathetically easy to slip around behind them, to use his Master's katana and relieve the fools of their heads. Blood splatters his chest, but it's of no matter, because Slade is rising. 

Slade is rising, and he is displeased. Robin averts his eyes, but it's already too late. 

He sinks to his knees, crawling over to where his Master jabs a silent finger. A familiar sensation wraps around his throat, and he doesn't need to wait long. Agony rips his body apart, stealing breath and time and ending only once he could scream no more.

Slade stands over him, dispassionately nudging Robin with the tip of one bare foot.

"You know you are not allowed to leave my room. Come." Every bare inch of him hurts, but Robin obeys, heaving himself onto his hands and knees, because Slade ordered him to do so. He would endure anything his Master asked him to, anything.

His Master made him, took him in, gave him children, gave him a reason for living. Robin was nothing before Slade, was lost and afraid. 

His Master has become the center of his universe.

He will always obey his Master, a good omega.

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly. Have you ever written, read, consumed something and part of you is staring in horror while another part is *cackling* and adding more gas to the dumpster fire of pain?   
The rest of SladeRobin week shouldnt be this bad... I hope


End file.
